But ’tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
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Sonnets Ix by William Shakespeare
FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing,And like enough thou know’st thy estimate:The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;My bonds in thee are all determinate.For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?And for that riches where is my deserving?The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,And so my patent…
O, call not me to justify the wrong
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;Use power with power, and slay me not by art.Tell me thou lov’st elsewhere, but in my sight,Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside;What need’st thou wound with cunning when thy mightIs more than my o’erpressed defence can bide?Let me excuse thee: ‘Ah, my love…
Sonnet Iv: Unthrifty Loveliness, Why Dost Thou Spend by William Shakespeare
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spendUpon thy self thy beauty’s legacy?Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,And being frank she lends to those are free:Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuseThe bounteous largess given thee to give?Profitless usurer, why dost thou useSo great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?For having traffic with thy…
Dirge by William Shakespeare
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,And yet methinks I have astronomy,But not to tell of good, or evil luck,Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality,Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,Or say with princes if it shall go wellBy oft predict that I in…
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Can yet the lease of my true love control,Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.The mortal moon hath her eclipse enduredAnd the sad augurs mock their own presage;Incertainties now crown themselves assuredAnd peace proclaims olives of endless age.Now with the drops of this most balmy timeMy love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,Since, spite…
WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time
And beauty making beautiful old rimeIn praise of Ladies dead and lovely Knights;Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best,Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,I see their antique pen would have exprestEven such a beauty as you master now.So all their praises are but propheciesOf this our time, all you prefiguring;And…
But ’tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine cars with thy tongue’s tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone;
But my five wits, nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be.
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
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From you have I been absent in the spring,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smellOf different flowers in odour and in hueCould make me any summer’s story tell,Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,Nor praise…
Devouring Time blunt thou the lion’s paws,
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood,Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st,And do whate’er thou wilt swift-footed TimeTo the wide world and all her fading sweets.But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:O carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,Nor draw no…
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Have put on black, and loving mourners be,Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.And truly not the morning sun of heavenBetter becomes the grey cheeks of the east,Nor that full star that ushers in the evenDoth half that glory to the sober westAs those two mourning eyes become thy face.O, let it then as well…
Sonnet 27: Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed by William Shakespeare
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,The dear respose for limbs with travel tirèd;But then begins a journey in my headTo work my mind, when body’s work’s expirèd.For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,Looking on darkness which the blind do…
Sonnet Xxx: When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought by William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear times’ waste;Then can I drown an eye, unus’d to flow,For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,And moan…
Sonnet Xl by William Shakespeare
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.Then if for my love thou my love receivest,I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;But yet be blamed, if…